


Dreamland

by spectrenico



Category: Death Note
Genre: Crying, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred, Swearing, Wammy House, Wammy's Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 00:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7143905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectrenico/pseuds/spectrenico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was rank day, and nobody hated rank day more than Matt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamland

It was rank day, and nobody hated rank day more than Matt.

 

He didn't bother to go run to the main hall to see the posted scores. Instead, he sat on he and Mello’s shared room floor and took apart his desktop computer piece by piece. Besides smoking it was the only thing to calm his nerves and since Roger calmly supplied if he smelled smoke on Matt again he'd take away various privileges for a month, the boy decided to go smoke free for a few weeks. Just to drive suspicion off, let the old man forget.

 

He had just started on the screws by the motherboard when he heard it. A series of heavy thuds, all which made their way closer to his room. He took in a deep breath and braced himself.

 

The room door swung open and hit the wall with a resounding crack. Matt didn't raise his head. His roommates demeanor already let him know how the rankings went. How they always went.

 

Well, not always. That was probably the worst part--that Mello could, every once in awhile, genuinely get ahead of Near. That hope, however brief it would be, is what drove the white hot rage whenever he  _ didn't _ match up.

 

“Fucking  _ stupid _ .” Mello slammed the door shut and Matt turned his head just in time to avoid a shoe that flew inches from his face.

 

“What the hell?” he hissed, but quickly realized Mello hadn't picked a fight with him. Mello was on his own side of the room just blindly groping for and throwing anything his hands could find purchase. He threw an enormous textbook against the floor. The other shoe he threw at his dresser. Pens, papers, a snow globe from Linda. 

 

“Mello,” he tried, but it fell on deaf ears.

 

“0.217% behind, why am I such an idiot? Why didn't I pull an all nighter that Sunday and just--”

 

“You'd already pulled an all nighter that Saturday,” Matt supplied, because he remembered. It'd taken a while to coax Mello into finally putting away the books and getting about 4 hours of sleep. And he'd only let Matt convince him to take that much because of how deliriously sleep deprived he was.

 

Mello continued, as if Matt hadn't even said anything. “Fuck Near, smug self righteous piece of shit. He's not better than me, nobody's fucking better than  _ me _ .” He was ranting now, usually past the point of whatever kind of consoling Matt was able to offer. “I'm so stupid, why can't I be as good as him, why am I always second fucking place?”

 

This Matt couldn't stand the most. Mello would flip flip between self righteous anger and self hateful moaning. It made no sense. Mello usually made no sense, all teeth and swears and dumb blonde hair.

 

Matt sighed and set back into his dismantle of the computer. He didn't even ask about his own ranking. He knew he was third place. Just close enough for Mello and Near to consider him smart enough to associate with, but far enough behind for neither of them to consider him a threat. That was usually 1 or 2 percent behind Mello’s ranking. Which one depended on how lazy he'd been that month.

 

A strange sound pulled him from his computer. But it wasn't another smash or a thud. In fact, when Matt turned around he saw that Mello stopped throwing things. He sat on the edge of his bed, and hollowly stared forward at some point on the blank wall.

 

The sound had wrenched itself from Mello’s throat. Matt wildly flung himself into denial and tried to convince himself it wasn't what he thought it was, when Mello’s face crumpled like a dry autumn leaf. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation and bone deep exhaustion. Maybe it was the self loathing and inferiority complex finally, solidly, taking hold.

 

Mello started to ugly cry.

 

Matt’s fingers curled around the piece of motherboard he'd unscrewed from his dissected computer. Java he knew inside and out. CSS was a piece of cake. But this?

 

Tears leaked from Mello’s eyes and silently dotted dark stains in the front of his black t-shirt. He took in a few choked breaths.

 

Matt stood. He’d seen Mello cry only twice in the five years he'd known him. Once after losing a psychologically exhausting verbal battle with Near (before Mello really understood the art of mind games or knew how to control his emotions). Once after waking screaming from a nightmare, the contents of it he refused to speak aloud (but he crawled into Matt’s bed and held him tight).

 

Matt crossed the room in maybe seven easy steps. Now he was nearly in front of Mello, who still didn't look up.

 

“Get away from me, Matt.” It wasn’t as intimidating as Mello probably intended it to be, with the hitched sob halfway through the quiet demand. Still, when had Matt ever been intimidated by him, anyway?

 

Matt changed his approach. He sat gingerly next to Mello on the bed. Mello still cried openly, but took a moment to wipe his eyes and nose on his sleeve. 

 

“Maybe you need a good cry,” Matt mused. Mello shot him a watery, hateful glare. “I'm only saying, with all that built up tension and stress...”

 

“Fuck you, is that supposed to make me feel better?”

 

“No, it was just an observation, you whiny bitch,” Matt shot back, without any real venom.

 

Mello frowned, but the sobs that wracked his body slowed to a stop at the insult. “Shitty observations like that are probably why you're third place.”

 

Matt shrugged off the remark. He didn't tell himself Mello didn't mean it, because Matt knew he absolutely did. “Yeah, well, third place is cool. You won't see me crying over it.”

 

Mello winced, and Matt almost wondered if he'd gone too far. “Fuck you, lazy hacker garbage--” more tears were already spilling over.

 

God damn it, even if he was a huge whiny asshole, Matt couldn't stand to see his best friend like this. What made Matt feel better, before this stupid school, he and Mello trading crude insults, and the secure mediocrity of third place? His handheld gameboy? Sure, but Mello would hardly get a kick out of that. Smoking? Mello yelled at him enough when he found out Matt was doing it, so Matt doubted he'd be up for it. Long buried memories of his mother's loving embrace flashed behind his eyes. Matt sucked in another deep breath. The most obvious solution completely eluded him until now.

 

He drew Mello into a tight hug.

 

Mello stiffened immediately. “What the fuck are you doing?”

 

“For such a genius, you'd think you know what a hug is.”

 

“I  _ know _ what a--”

 

“Then shut the fuck up and hug back.”

 

Mello breathed hotly against Matt’s ear, and Matt braced himself for another insult. But it never came. Instead, Matt felt Mello’s arms curl snug around his waist. Mello buried his face into his shoulder.

 

He wasn't crying any more, but Matt almost wished he would. Really, he hadn't been joking. Mello probably needed a good cry.

 

Still Mello trembled. Matt heard, under his breath,  _ stupid worthless idiot _ and he'd really have done anything for those to be insults lodged at him. But he knew they weren't. Matt held him tighter. This seemed to only make Mello’s pitch drop but the insults rose in intensity and viciousness. 

 

Matt, really, couldn't stand to hear it any longer. That's what he said to himself. He'd have told Mello to shut up, but the blond wouldn't have listened and it wouldn't have helped the problem. Matt, really, narrowed down the next obviously logical solution.

 

So he drew back from the hug a bit, to peer at Mello’s twisted, confused face. Then, Matt, third place nicotine addicted lazy hacker that he was, gently nudged their mouths together.

 

It was weird. Mello kind of sat there for a moment. He gently kissed back. It was as if each of them was worried the other might break. Still lip locked, Mello slowly drew his hands from around Matt's waist to between them. He firmly placed his palms flat against Matt's chest.

 

Then, he shoved. Hard.

 

Matt’s head hit the edge of the bed as he went down, and he bodily fell on the floor with a loud thud. Pain exploded across his left ear and hip.

 

“What, is wrong with you,” he wheezed.

 

Mello now stood over him, concern etched across his face. Not that he said  _ are you okay  _ or  _ I'm sorry _ like a normal person. Instead, indignation worked it's way into the concern as Mello balled his hands into fists and yelled, “What’s wrong with  _ me _ ? Are you fucking insane?”

 

Like Mello hadn't kissed back. Like Matt couldn't tell Mello wanted to kiss him for years, possibly since they were 12. “Am I fucking insane,” he repeated, coolly. Something felt wet behind his ear. He touched it, and drew back. Red.

 

Mello frowned again. “I didn't mean to push you that hard,” he said, softly. Matt realized this was probably the closest he was going to get to an apology.

 

Matt felt along the cut. It was shallow, only enough to draw blood. “It's just a scrape.” God, he ached for a smoke right about now. He didn't move. His elbows throbbed from where they hit the wood floor.

 

Mello’s eye twitched and suddenly Matt no longer stared at his flushed face, but the back of his blond head as he stepped over Matt, swung open the door and left.

 

In the heavy silence that followed, Matt decided to remain on the floor.

 

“Matt?”

 

The soft drone wasn't Mello. Matt rolled his head to the side. A figure peered in from the doorway, pale and hair like freshly fallen snow.

 

Why oh why would Near show his face around on rank day? “Are you  _ trying _ to get beat up? Is it really worth the chance to gloat?”

 

Near grimaced. “I'm not here to gloat. I heard noises from my room--” Matt almost forgot he roomed across the hall. “And I know Mello was upset. He has quite a temper.” Near cocked his head to the side. “I never thought he'd take it out on you, though.”

 

Matt blinked owlishly at him. Was he really implying… “Dude. You might be pretty scrawny and helpless, but I can  _ definitely _ hold my own against Mello. Not that we even fight like that.” They did, once. Mello was in a rage over nothing, Matt may have poured gasoline on the flames with a way crueler than intended joke. Mello may have punched him in the stomach and thrown his game across the room. Matt  _ may _ have decked him across the face. Still, they apologized and laughed off their bruises and moved on.

 

Near looked down at him, unimpressed. Matt suddenly realized that whatever he said wasn't going to hold while he was still on the floor, blood crusted around a head wound. “Listen, why do you care anyway?”

 

Near cocked his head to the side and curled a lock of hair around his finger. “I was curious.”

 

Matt closed his eyes. Yeah, curious. Translation: the kid was a little weirdo with no friends. 

 

Matt didn’t like being told what to do. He didn't hate Near, because Mello seemed to always insist he should. But he did find him creepy. Japanese horror movie creepy.

 

“Matt…. why are you still on the-- _ get out of my room _ !”

 

Ah. Mello was back. Matt opened his eyes again to see a furious Mello, flushed scarlet with a first aid kit under his arm. Near hadn't even flinched. He opened his mouth, then as if he realized rational explanations would do no good he sullenly gave Matt a nod and turned on his heels.

 

Mello seethed. He stepped in and shut the door, locked it. It was as if seeing Near again re ignited every single one of his cells with rage. Matt was a little worried to be in a locked room with him, out of base self preservation.

 

“Get off the floor,” Mello said, all that rage withered in an instant. Matt rolled his eyes and crawled up onto the bed. He touched behind his ear, which only bled a little now.

 

Mello watched him uneasily before he crawled onto the bed behind Matt. The first aid kit cracked open.

 

“Gonna clean up your mess?” Matt said.

 

Mello muttered under his breath, but didn't answer. There was a wetness, then sharp sting over the injury.

 

“Ow,” Matt said, and his shoulders jerked involuntarily.

 

“What are you doing! Keep still!”

 

“That shit stings, man!”

 

“No, it doesn't. Don't be such a baby.”

 

“You're a horrible nurse.”

 

Mello really was a horrible nurse. He was not gentle at all when he cleaned the wound or slapped a palm sized bandaid over it. When he was done, he put both hands on Matt’s shoulders and held him there. Matt felt like trapped prey.

 

“You know,” Mello said. “When I was on my way to take the first aid kit, I was thinking about what you did.” Matt swallowed, hard. So the blame was to be all on him, then. “Trying to rationalize it. I couldn't make sense of it. Then I realized my mistake.”

 

Matt could barely breathe. “Yeah?”

 

Mello’s breath ghosted over his ear. “Sometimes it doesn't help to think. Sometimes, I figure, it's best not to think about things at all.”

 

Matt didn't want to agree. But he didn't want to disagree, and risk an argument. Not when Mello seemed still spent from crying. “I'm tired,” he announced, and gave it as a cue for Mello to drop it, go get into his own bed and this could easily become one of the multitude of things they never talked about.

 

But Mello said, “Me, too, Matt,” and buried his face into Matt’s shoulder. His blonde hair draped around Matt’s neck. “I'm so tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of not being good enough.”

 

Matt turned around suddenly, and saw Mello blinked back at him in surprise. His face was full of that raw vulnerability again. Matt couldn't stand it. He didn't know what to do with it.

 

He pushed Mello back into his pillows. “Then go to sleep.”

 

Mello’s face contorted between offense, annoyance and agitation. “I actually better get to the library.”

 

More studying? “Sleep deprivation is actually a form of torture, you realize. You are quite literally torturing yourself.”

 

Mello shrugged. “I don't have an eidetic memory like Near. I have to memorize everything I read manually. Going over it again and again.”

 

Christ. “Sounds fun. In the morning. Get some sleep.”

 

“Ha, yeah, no.” Mello tried to sit up. Matt held him down with one arm, then two. “I don't know what you're trying to prove.”

 

“You've worn yourself out enough. Sleep it off like a normal person for once.”

 

He looked like he wanted to argue, then he just relaxed under the grip. “Stay with me.”

 

“I'm not going anywhere.”

 

“I mean, here. Next to me.”

 

Matt stared down at him like he'd grown two heads. They'd only just kissed and Mello nearly broke open his skull…

 

“Not like  _ that _ ,” Mello forced out between gritted teeth. A blush blossomed over his cheeks none the less.

 

“Fuck off,” Matt muttered, and sunk down into the bedsheets next to Mello. He reached for the lamp light and then shimmied under the covers. “You're such a blanket hog.”

 

“You love me anyway, don't you?” Mello said, exhaustion already crept into his voice. Matt closed his eyes. He felt a brush of lips against his cheek. “Don't you?”

 

_ Yeah _ , he mouthed, but didn't dare say it. Mello laughed, rolled over, and almost immediately fell into a steady slumber.

 

Matt snuggled a little closer--he wouldn't have to if Mello wasn't such a blanket hog, he told himself--and slept.

  
He hated rank day.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. I found my really old ff.net account and it had a story between these two I wanted to reimagine, so I did. More oneshots to come, probably. I like writing them. Tell me if you liked it, or not. :^) Thanks for reading !


End file.
